


Logic and Skill

by 100dabbo



Series: Quincey and Seward - Headcanons and Ficlets [2]
Category: Dracula - Bram Stoker
Genre: Blow Jobs, Chess, Hickeys, M/M, Married Couple (Sort Of), Masturbation, Neck Kissing, Nipple Play, POV First Person, Seduction, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:00:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21933367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/100dabbo/pseuds/100dabbo
Summary: Headcanon: Quincey cannot play chess and gets distracted far too easily.
Relationships: Quincey Morris/John Seward
Series: Quincey and Seward - Headcanons and Ficlets [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1578952
Kudos: 17





	1. Chapter 1

**Dr Seward’s Diary**

Quincey and I had a delightful time in the study last night; up all evening revelling in one another’s company for hours upon end, seemingly non-stop, and so entertaining that I hardly wanted it to end. His companionship with me was unmatched by anyone else; I don’t believe I have ever felt the same connection with another quite like it. His beautiful face was a wonder to stare at as he sat with me, his smooth voice a pleasure to listen to when he spoke, his clever wit and humour a brilliant example of his rapturing personality. Though, I must admit, he wasn’t gifted in everything…

Chess. That keen game of logic and skill was that one thing, no matter how hard the poor fellow tried, he could not grasp. This didn’t stop him from attempting game after game, however, this stubbornness in him quite a likeable trait for this setting considering how it allowed me to continue my excellent winning streak.

So last night, as we sat in the study in front of the fire, reclined upon the chaise lounge together, the war of chess commenced. I allowed the poor fellow to play white, thinking the first move could serve him as an advantage, but fifteen moves later when I placed him into checkmate, he threw his head back, laughing in defeat, saying:-

“God, Jack! How am I supposed to beat you?!” 

I stared at his gorgeous smile as he chuckled, my cheeks turning rose, offering him the slightest consolidation:-

“You just need to practice, Quincey…”

He took the tobacco out of his tin and stuffed it into his pipe,

“Shoot, Jack, you’re as bright as a new penny, it’ll never happen!” He lit the end with a flamboyant flick of his match, “How’d you get so good, huh?” He began unbuttoning the collar of his shirt, the warmth of the burning fireplace in the room heating his body up; that golden crucifix glinting in my peripheral as I set up the next game with each piece going back to its allotted square.

“Well, Quincey,” I responded, “The game of chess requires certain skills,” He continued listening as he took contemplative puffs from his pipe, “One of which is the ability to plan out one’s moves and foresee those of the opponent…” I sat back into the lounge once all pieces had been placed, eyes flicking back up to his gaze. He smirked with the pipe between his lips,

“So, you’re saying if I can predict what you’re gonna do, I can win?” I could tell he was going to attempt some sort of mind game with me; use his handsomeness to distract me from his ‘thought out’ moves. He moved his knight forward, eyes still locked on me.

“Yes.” I said, mirroring his action, keeping my keen eyes on his lips, using my _own_ wit to play with _him_. And as he thought for his next move, I made my lids heavy and my lips parted, letting my tongue slip between my teeth. His tentative focus immediately shifted from the board and onto my mouth, proceeding to make a reckless move; taking his queen away from his king and placing her right in the path of the gallant knight that had been placed there just a second ago. I took it without even moving my eyes, lamenting with a faux-sympathetic tone, “Oh, my dear Quincey, it appears your queen has been taken…”

His eyes slowly moved down to the board and he rested back into the lounge in defeat, looking at his vulnerable king. He blinked once, then twice, then thrice, not saying anything. I leaned forward, close enough for him to hear my breaths on his neck and kissed his skin with wet lips. When I pulled away, I whispered,

“Your move…”


	2. Chapter 2

**Dr Seward’s Diary**

The fellow attempted another game last night and won. Though, it is important to distinguish that I was not his opponent, and rather it was Art that he played so well against. When the Lord walked in, full of his usual grandeur, I was shocked that he offered to be _my_ adversary before Quincey. Naturally, I advised against this:-

“Art, I think you ought to play Quincey first, he’s the one who actually needs the practice…”

Quincey snapped his head up to me as I said it; a stifled look of both amusement and offence simultaneously blended into his expression, teeth gritted so as not to allow a chuckle to escape as he heard my comment. He kept his eyes on me as he encouraged Arthur to play with him:-

“Yeah, come sit here where Jack is.” 

I returned his salted look with one of my own, my tongue in my cheek and smirking, rising up to sit on the chair just behind him and watching Art as he confidently strode over to sit in my place.

I didn’t suspect that much was to come of this game; the two of them were both just as awful as each other, making it a pleasant shock when Quincey managed to take a fair few of his pieces. Though, this didn’t come without a series of protests from the stalwart Godalming:-

“Come now, Quince, whatever do you think you’re doing, man?”

Quincey looked confused and halted for a moment, studying the board for what mistake he could have made:-

“What’re you talkin’ about?”

Art looked to me with an exasperated smile, so sure of himself that he knew the rules better than our dear Texan:-

“A bishop can’t move diagonally you fool!” And Arthur laughed to himself, contented, although not for long as I quickly crouched over Quincey’s shoulder to check the board, and then correct him on his idiocy:-

“Yes, Art, it can. That’s its sole function.” I quietly chuckled beside Quincey’s ear, and he joined in too, louder than I, as Arthur sat opposite us looking rather indignant, not deigning to speak of the matter any further. 

It was when we looked back to the board that we realised the bishop that Quincey had so cleverly placed had put the man in checkmate.

“Well Art,” He said with a smile, “You’re in checkmate, my man...”

Arthur gawked at the two of us, mouth agape and eyes full of shock; looking the absolute image of defeat.

I was proud of him, honestly, as Quincey’s victories were few and far between; the only one I could account for being was a time where he had become so fed up, I just had to let him win. But now, it was genuine, and he knew it, his bright smile beaming as he stared at the board, then back to the disappointed Godalming.

I had to resist the urge to kiss his cheek, and instead opted for a safe and firm grasp on the shoulder to congratulate him, his hand shooting up to grab on top of it to let me see his golden ring. When I noticed it glinting in my peripheral, my grin stretched twice as wide.


	3. Chapter 3

**Dr Seward’s Diary**

Ever since his triumphant victory over Art, Quincey had been absolutely adamant on playing a game every night before we went to bed. So, there we were, once again, brandy in our glasses and focus in our minds as we both stared at the chequered board. Each piece stood perfectly in its place, waiting patiently for white (Quincey) to commence.

Thumb and knuckle brushed that moustache of his in a pensive fashion as he deliberated his choice, and finally those brown eyes concentrated their gaze on the pawn before his rook, and he moved it forward two places. His playful eyes flicked up to me, gauging my unresponsive reaction when I, as I habitually do, mirrored his action on the opposite side.

With eyebrows raised in curiosity, he smirked and brought forth his rook. I merely nodded and placed a knight to tempt him, for in our games, he never can quite resist the easy grasp of a piece, cannot be patient and delay a victory of any form, no matter how short lived it may be... His rook inched its way to the side, lining it up for the eventual removal of my piece, and during my turn, I opted to draw out my own rook to set a convenient trap that Quincey was sure not to even notice, being so focused on claiming any piece that all risk to himself was ignored. 

And, just as expected, Quincey rushed forth to steal away the sacrificial knight, and as planned, I immediately attacked that poor rook, gently picking it away from the board with a grin adorning my face to accompany to sentiment of success in my heart.

He sucked his teeth then grinned too; disappointed in himself, but not enough to let his spirits dip in the slightest. He finally offered a glance into my eyes and a single pass over my body, stopping them at the crotch in such a way that couldn’t make it more obvious that he was feeling particularly lustful. But to goad, and to ensure his consideration was with the game, I thought I would remind him of what he _ought_ to have been doing:-

“It’s your turn, Quincey…”

A coquettish narrowing of the eyes and the tongue running across his lips told me of his intentions after this game was done, and he propped his chin upon a fist to respond:-

“Gee thanks, Jack, I’ll give it a shot…” 

I suspected it would be his plan to purposefully lose as soon as possible, the meditative dance of his fingers as he hovered them above his wooden army, obviously fake contemplation. He moved the piece in front of his king two places, making it needlessly vulnerable. My rook moved in line with it and after another unnecessary and languorous wait, his pawn moved a square closer. Naturally, this landed him in check as soon as I took it away, though to his disappointment, not _checkmate_ …

His eyes glanced back up to mine, ignoring the state of the board, and his lashes turned heavy, deep pupils darkening. He said nothing, aiming to draw a thick silence between us; the carnal tension there palpable and just hanging in the air with each lingering second that ticked by. It seemed that this method of seduction was his forte, making me wait for it and guess what he could do, how he might break it and when…

If he might be fast and suddenly snatch my mouth onto his, or be slow and carefully lean towards me until I was in his arms; if he would say something to end the silence, start a calm conversation before putting a warm palm on my thigh and inch it closer up, or remain quiet to keep me hushed and unspoken, doing he did whatever he wanted to me…

During this silence, one could see the deliberation in his eyes, the same look the poor fellow displayed when making his choice of a move, and I could see that he had come to a decision…

It was as if some wild hunger came over him, his ravenous, untamed desire coming free as he tossed the chess board off of the lounge and onto the floor, scattering the little figures of wood, strewing them across the carpet as he made a lunge with his lips at my own. His dominant hand grasped to my throat and I immediately began to feel myself stiffen in my trousers, his dominating aura now becoming corporeal through his action, my own delicate hands moving onto his hips while he shifted his body atop my own, continuing to push his mouth onto me and slip his tongue out with every other kiss.

Naturally, I mirrored his action, attempting to mimic the same enthusiasm he himself bore with his soft lips, and pushed up, spreading my legs wider for him to settle more comfortably between. Then he exerted a deep groan of sorts once he pulled away - a warning almost - for what he was to do next was an unequivocal shock to my already piqued senses. 

The firm hand that grasped my neck slid up to my jaw where it was slowly turned to the side, access now easily given to the side of my neck. He stooped down, lower than before, and after a teasing beat of his warm breath breathing on the supple skin, his mouth latched on without further reticence. 

And while he had kissed my neck before, the thing he had yet to do was suck, and so to my shock, there on my pale throat, the lips tightened and the tongue escaped, licking and lapping while his teeth gently scraped and I panted out his name from beneath him. His deft hands traced across my torso until they pulled up my shirt, revealing my smooth skin for his fingertips to explore, continuing his careful kisses on my throat; wet and hot with his tongue, soft and gentle with his moustache.

The absolute bliss made it so I couldn’t tell for how long it went on; a minute or perhaps even ten, but when he finally drew away his lips, the hands on my stomach drifted to the fastenings on my trousers, pulling them down just above my knees to free my length. His dark eyes gave it a glance before he closed them again to press our mouth together, his palm holding onto it and beginning a stoke – a simple preparation for what he was about to do next.

Our mouths separated and a gasp slipped out of me; his hand was tightening, and his grin was widening - pure mischief in those eyes- and he inched his body down mine, lips grazing on my skin as he trailed his way down until he was level with it. 

When he slipped it down his throat with that perfect ease, the moan that released from me was more like a whimper than anything else, a simple noise rewarded with a hand as it drifted up to caress the purple bruises forming beneath my skin and then held a grip while his head started to bob between my legs with a flawless rhythm, just the right cadence with his tongue traces and hollowed cheeks. He drew upwards until his lips latched onto my tip and sucked until I writhed, my spine arching and hands digging into the back of his neck, then he went back down without hesitation, a bold and fast descent that resulted in his nose pressed onto my stomach, his chin digging into the open fastenings of my trousers.

My legs shook and I bared my teeth, offering him an inclination towards my completion with a hiss:-

“Quincey!” I panted, “I’m going to finish if you- ah!”

As he heard me he pushed down harder, the entirety of my member inside his mouth with what seemed like only slight effort on his part; the facility with which he could take it in was definitely a skill I knew he had, but I was still pleasantly shocked every time he chose to show it. He moaned around me, a sure give of permission for me to do what I had warned him I would, and after a few seconds, I was spilling down his throat in a glorious orgasm, easily swallowed as soon as it was let go.

His lips hugged the skin as he pulled up for the last time, and then he knelt between my legs to look down at my wanton face; my eyes which were sure to be glazed over with heavy lids, my jaw hanging open to chase my breath.

He flashed his pearls and took no time in starting to palm himself through his trousers, still yet to say a word to me. I thought I’d say something to aid his method; I knew how much he loved it to hear me talk for him, so I left myself exposed to his eyes and said:-

“Oh, Quincey, do show yourself to me…”

He obliged and slowly revelled his hard length, presumed to have been stiff since he first connected our lips, and his fingers wrapped themselves around its girth, starting to tug on it in slow, repeated strokes. I bit my lip, struggling to keep my eyes open - the sight equally too fantastic to look away and yet so sensual that, in my afterglow, my head could throw itself back on the armrest just to bask in the thought. But I had the real thing in front of me to stare at. He finally spoke to me as he jerked his wrist:-

“You like that, Jack?”

I could only nod and let my short breaths escape from me, teeth still digging into my bottom lip. He grinned again, tongue slipping out, and he used his free hand to feel my abdomen and up to my chest, gently pinching my nipple to force out an additional groan. He chuckled at me and let his stokes grow broader, faster, more focused, staring down at me to ask:-

“How much does my whore like to watch, hm?” He closed his eyes as he said this and continued, “Answer me.”

“Very much so…” Was all I could whisper, waiting in anticipation for him to finish across me as he was bound to be planning. He grunted as he thrust into his own fist and asked me another:-

“And how much does he wish it was inside a’ him?”

“Very much so!” I repeated, my eyes strained on the tip as it leaked and smeared down his length, leaving it with a glistening finish.

“Oh, God, you love it don’t ya?” And he reopened his eyes, watching my lids flutter and chest rise and fall. I nodded once more and he drew in a sharp inhale through his nostrils, finishing on top me, letting his head fall back and jaw open wide.

Once he had composed himself, his eyes fell back onto my neck and those mauve tints that he had left there. With a slow move, he dipped himself back down to return his mouth to the supple skin and suck at it again with his soft lips.

Upon reflection, I shouldn’t have been shocked that all this came of one of our chess games; logically, it was bound to happen for him to assert his insatiable lust within one of our matches, and so for me to me surprised he did it _then_ might just show how he remains unpredictably fresh to me with everything he does – his one consistency being his true skill in carnal action…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentine's Day! Thanks for reading :)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading :)


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